


The Papers

by Mary_West



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Not Serious, dark humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 15:17:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7366954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_West/pseuds/Mary_West
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron has died in a workplace accident, and it's up to Harry and Hermione to sort out the issue he's left behind. As always, I get nothing from playing in JKR's sandpit but sheer enjoyment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MayorHaggar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayorHaggar/gifts).



"His last words were _Please, look after Hermione._ " 

Harry scratched his knee, and hoped that Hermione wouldn't notice his awkward look. He need not have worried. Hermione sat opposite him, clutching her handkerchief, hurting too much to cry. Her heart felt like it had been ripped from her chest, leaving only a gaping hole, and she couldn't see anything around her. It was odd. She was bereft, empty, just waiting for the pain to slam into her, which she knew it would sooner or later. She had been expecting this news for years, ever since Ron had insisted on going back to be an Auror. A dark, hard fear in her chest had haunted her from the first day he headed in to work, and the stories he and Harry had told afterwards didn't help in the slightest. Now, that dreaded day had come. Ginny was holding her with warm, comforting arms, and Molly was standing near the front door, ready to take her to Hogwarts so that she could tell the children herself. 

Hermione steeled herself for the horrors of the days and weeks to come, the ghastly feeling of detachment that she knew would help her as she organised the necessities, the funeral, re-sorting her life. She'd been here before, when friends and relatives had died. She knew she could go into autopilot for long enough to get all that settled. But she also knew that, once all the essential tasks were done, and the mourners left, and the house became empty, that she would break so hard, so completely, that she didn't know if she would ever be the same again. So she sat, still, hoping that by not moving, she could keep the pain from starting. 

And she was completely oblivious to Harry's odd behaviour.

She never noticed that he was lying.

And she certainly never picked up how uncomfortable he felt. For once, she coped only for herself and her children, and not for anyone else. This time, she didn't have anything to spare for her friend.

\----------------------oooooooooooooooooooooooo----------------------

A week later, Harry came back to the Ministry of Magic for the first time since the funeral. He paused at the entrance to what had previously been his shared office, noticing the large cleared patch where Ron's desk had been. Scorch marks still showed on the ceiling and the back of the door, which had been open at the time. His own desk had been shielded by the door, which is why he had lived and Ron hadn't. Harry tried not to cough at the lingering smell of charred wood and paper, and wished he had told Hermione the truth.

After all, those were _not_ what Ron's last words had been.

They were more like _I'm pretty sure this one's been deactivated._

Or possibly _Bugger_. Or something stronger.

But Harry would never tell her that. 

He felt guilty. Not over Ron's actual death. He'd warned his friend again and again to double check, to only try disassembling items in the magic-dampened room, and not to trust _anything_ to be safe. Especially anything they had found in a former well-known Death Eater's home, one where the occupant had had plenty of time to set up a bundle of booby-traps before escaping once more into the night. 

No, Harry felt guilty precisely because he _didn't_ feel guilty. Oh, he missed Ron. Desperately. It wasn't going to be the same without his mate to sit next to him at Quidditch, to puzzle over the clues to the latest Death Eater hunt, or to just complain about the kids using his best broom without asking and then returning it with half the handle broken off. No, life would be quite different now. But he knew he couldn't have done anything to stop Ron. Maybe tried a bit harder to persuade the redhead to chuck the Auror job and go into partnership with George. But Ron wanted to make Hermione proud, and being a co-manager of _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_ just didn't seem to be good enough. 

And now Ron was gone. Harry walked over to the space where his friend had worked, and looked around at the charred spot on the floor. 

He kicked a folder that had fallen in a burned mess beside the old coal-fire fender, and wished Ron was there to talk about it with him. "Good job of cleaning it up."

"How good a job?" 

"Enough that _WHAT THE HELL??_ " Harry jumped a foot in the air, and had his wand out and trained on the source of the voice as he landed. 

Ron Weasley, late husband of Hermione and best friend of Harry, stood there, his arms crossed over one of Molly's jumpers. "Enough what? And put that down – it can't hurt me."

Harry stood there, in a defensive position, his mouth working without making any further noise. It took another minute before Harry noticed that Ron was looking – well, to be honest, rather transparent.

"You're…"

"A ghost. Yes. Now tell me about the desk."

"What? Why? How are you here? _Why_ are you here? Are you real?"

"Course I'm bloody real. Now stop pointing that thing at me, and tell me." Ron shook his head, and floated over to the mantelpiece, where he sat down and looked over the room. "I had some important papers in that desk."

"But you're… "

"Look, mate, this is all you get at the moment, so don't waste it. I don't intend being here forever."

"Oh hell – I have to tell Hermione."

"Don't. Or at least – not yet. I've got to get some things sorted out first. Like those papers."

"Papers. You're dead, and a ghost, and you're worried about …"

The ghost started to look uneasy. "They were rather important. Was the desk completely blown up? I don't have a lot of memory of that exact moment."

"Not exactly." Harry leaned against his own desk, the wand lowered but still handy. "It was pretty well trashed, the top was stove in and the sides had collapsed. There might have been a bit left on the bottom – a drawer or two. What were the papers?"

"Can't tell you."

"What? Why the hell not?"

"Just can't, ok? It's a ghost thing." Ron waved his hand towards the space where the desk had been. "They need to be destroyed properly. Or at least not fall into the wrong hands. I'm pretty sure that's why I'm here. And I can't seem to move out of the room, either. So I need you to find them for me." 

"So you get to be here as long as the papers exist? I could keep you here forever if I just didn't find them?"

Ron looked hurt. "Some friend you've turned out to be!"

"I was. Am." Harry sat up onto the desktop, his legs swinging like a schoolboy's. "And I _will_ help. But can you blame me? I've lost so many friends already…" He didn't notice the tears starting down his cheeks. 

"Sorry. Right. I'll stay as long as I can." His head hung in contrition, Ron jumped down to the floor, not noticing that his feet sank into the floorboards as far as his ankles. "I reckon if you at least get the papers, we can keep them in here until I need to go. I don't think all ghosts stay around forever, do they?"

"I don't think a lot of ghosts come back." Noticing the tears for the first time, Harry wiped them quickly off on his arm. "Look. I know you can't tell me what's in the papers, but who can't see them?"

"Can't tell you that either."

"Great bloody help you are. Okay. I'll go find out what happened to the desk." 

"Thanks, mate." Ron went to hug Harry, then noticed his stuck feet. "Dammit. I'll have to get used to this. Let me see how far I _can_ get." 

The ghost finally pulled his feet out of the floor, and drifted over to the doorway. A hands width from it, he rebounded gently, as if he had hit a rubber wall. 

"That far."

"And you've tried the rest?" Harry gestured at the floor-to-ceiling windows, the air vent on one wall, and the fireplace on the other. 

"Didn't have anything else to do while I waited for you to come back."

Harry shrugged. "Fair enough. Look, this shouldn't take too long. Don't go awa.. oh. Sorry." And as he left the room, the ghost cocked a snoot at his retreating back.


	2. Chapter 2

It took Harry about an hour to discover that the remains of Ron's desk had been moved off to a de-magicking area in the countryside, where it had spent the last week being hit with every possible counter-curse and detection spell that the Aurors had. He had to request special clearance to go there himself, and then only with an escort. Unfortunately, budget cuts meant that the escort was a group of trainee Aurors, who were more the supervised than the supervisors. 

"Right, you lot," he said as he hung like crazy to the straps in the back of the ex-Army truck. Every pothole made the truck swing and jolt, and the powers of Newton's Laws meant that he and his recruits were also swinging and jolting, in a most uncomfortable manner. "If anyone asks, we're a bunch of New Age adventurers trying to find ley lines."

"But there _aren't_ any ley lines in this area." Sally Dobbs, eldest of the trainees and the one Harry was hoping would be the most sensible, was unfortunately also the most knowledgeable and didn't hesitate in letting people know. 

"I know that. Some of you already know that. But the average Muggle won't have a clue." Harry winced as the truck dipped into what must have been a massive pothole, and a muffled _Sorry_ echoed through from Stewart Ackerley at the wheel. "And we're New Age, because the locals still don't like the Travellers much, and that's who they'll be expecting to rummage through a rubbish dump. Which is what this is."

"If you please, sir…?" A trainee who looked young enough to still be waiting on sorting was trying to raise his hand and keep his balance at the same time.

"Braden? Don't call me _sir_. I'm your co-worker, not your teacher." 

"Sorry, sir. I mean, sorry… Um… "

"Yes?"

"Why don't we have thick gloves? Or rubbish bags? It's going to be horrid."

"It won't."

"But it's a _rubbish_ tip. Full of rotting lemon tree prunings and the last of the turnips. It'll be _disgusting_ "

Once more Harry cursed the organiser who had sent him out with a bunch of beginners. "We don't need them. To the Muggles, we're surveying. And we have our magical protection amulets. Because what we'll be digging up and unearthing _won't_ be Uncle Alfie's overgrown allotment turnips. It'll be the waste from the Magical Creatures breeding sheds, and the detritus from the potions laboratories that was too dangerous to wash down the drains. You know what happened last year with the sewer rats." There was a collective _ewww_ from the ranks, then he went on. "Muggles are forbidden here, and warded off by a lot of _Nullisnope_ spells so they aren't even interested. It'll just be us."

At that, the truck ground to a halt, and the first eager trainees tumbled out the back. Within moments they were spread out around the ground, wands checking for magical signatures (of which there were many) and eyes looking for scorch marks (which were also abundant). The scent of rotting vegetation, decomposing … stuff … and just _wrong_ kept people from looking too closely, which led to a couple of falls into unpleasant puddles. The amulets certainly kept the nastier stuff from affecting them, but there's a large difference between "Affected" and "Covered in smelly grot", which everyone was in a very short time. 

It took quite a lot longer to dredge though the mess, isolating things which really should have been dehexed, sealed inside concrete and buried at the bottom of Öskjuvatn caldera. Harry cursed the Misuse of Magical Items department again, this time for using the clean-up as an opportunity to dump some of their more dangerous inventions, and it was only the quick thinking of Sally Dobbs that kept Brandon Mingsworth from being trapped inside a broken Vanishing Cabinet and caught between the worlds for an eternity. This, plus a pile of bubotuber skins that had been soaking in nettle juice, gave the trainees more than enough trouble, and it took nearly three hours before they had unearthed the burnt and battered remains of Ron's desk. (Harry recognised the desk by the Quidditch stickers all over the sides, in strict contravention of Ministry of Magic rules. That, and no-one else would have used stickers of the Chudleigh Cannons.) 

Harry ordered all the trainees out, to form a circle around the rubbish pile with their wands out defensively, while he attempted to open the drawers. 

Which was a rather foolish thing to do. The drawers, it turned out, were _not_ locked. On the first tug, Harry, who had expected a great deal more resistance, pulled the drawer out and stumbled back straight into a puddle of rotting turnips that had migrated somehow from the rest of the tip. The contents of the drawer flew everywhere.

Lolly wrappers. 

Brightly coloured, foil-lined wrappers from toffees, boxes from Bertie Botts, chocolate frog cards and a pile from some British company that were all green and black.

But no papers. 

Harry and his companions checked the drawer over carefully, but there were no hidden catches or sliding bases to be found. Finally, they piled the whole lot of rubbish in a pile in the empty drawer, and Harry tried the second one.

Immediately, he noticed that the lock on the drawer had already been broken, and that the drawer itself, while a little sticky, came out quite readily. This one, though, was empty, save for a torn piece of paper caught on a splinter on the side. It had a tiny piece of a picture on it, but so little that all Harry could tell was that the picture had been of a person, and it wasn't a Wizarding picture. Rather, it was a Muggle one, not moving, and the person's elbow was just on the edge of it, against a curtain. 

And these were the only two drawers left in the scorched remains of the desk. All the rest had been thoroughly destroyed in the explosion, leaving only the charred frame and enough of the sides to confirm Ron's Chudleigh Cannon mania. Harry signalled to the rest of the group to meet back at the truck, where a combination of spells and germicidal wipes took away the worst of the muck on everyone. 

"Did you find it, sir?"

"Not 'sir'. And I found something, but I think I'm going to have to chase it up back at the Ministry. Thank you, everyone. We've certainly found enough other mess that someone back at the office is going to get in some strife – Ganders? Did you get all of that slime off before you…"

The trainee in question held up a hand that was now as large as a baseball, and covered in bandages that did not entirely hide the weeping sores. "It doesn't hurt, Mr Potter, but I'd like to get it cured as soon as possible."

"Right." Harry swore under his breath, and mourned the curiosity of trainees that meant a side-trip to a pub on the way home was now out of the question. Probably a good thing, though. Now he needed to chase up through whoever had done the clean-up, and find out what had been removed from the desk, and by whom. His earlier queries had led to this dump, but obviously someone had failed to mention emptying the drawers earlier.

At least he could now concentrate on other things. Including a rather important discussion he needed to have that night. 

Ron's stuff could wait another day.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day at home, Hermione looked once more at the large box on the table, then back to her pile of cards. So many people had sent a message, or a lovely card, or occasionally a really ghastly one with saccharine phrases and trite sentiments that she was willing to write off as "didn't know what else to do". The innumerable flower arrangements had been dispatched either to St Mungos or the local nursing home, with the exception of one basket of bright and colourful field blooms that brightened the whole room. Hermione sniffed the air and smiled, silently thanking Minerva McGonagall once more. Then she bent her brain back to writing responses to the condolence wishes, determined to get through them all and have them in the post before she went insane.

Four hours and several cups of tea later, Hermione put her pen down for the last time, and stretched. A neat pile of sealed, addressed and stamped envelopes sat beside her, and the folder of "Responses to be Written" was now relabelled "Responses sent".

As she relaxed down from the stretch, she spotted the large document box once more. It was a Ministry box, rather heavy, and sealed with the formal wax seal of the Minister. She had endured a home visit from Kinglsey himself the week before, and while she was normally happy to see him, this visit had been exceptionally awkward for the pair of them. There had been a little speech, and the handing over of the box which contained those few of Ron's possessions that had survived the blast. Hermione had put it to the side until she could deal with it, and had wept as Kingsley also handed over the medal Ron received posthumously for _"Injuries or Death Resulting From Official Ministry Work"_. 

The medal was now on the nearby shelf, displayed against a blue velvet backing in a modest frame . The box sat where it had been since Hermione took it from Kinglsey's hands.

And every time she looked at it, she felt guilty.

Because Hermione had realised, after all this time, that she didn't really love Ron. She had been married to him for twelve years, borne his children, kept his home and stayed with him, but when he died, she was horrified to realise that she felt relieved. Ten days before, they had had one of their worst rows, when she suggested she might go back to work at one of the Potions shops in Hogsmeade, or even for the Ministry itself, and he had accused her of thinking he wasn't a good husband that could provide for his family. She had been so shocked at his old-fashioned views that she hadn't been able to respond, and Ron had stormed off and not come back for hours. Two days after, Harry had come to dinner with Ginny, and Hermione had listened with envious pleasure to Ginny's description of the Amazon expedition she had signed up for, but Ron had been horrid once they left, and not willing to discuss things at all. Hermione had spent the next day in tears, worrying why she felt so trapped when things were supposedly so good – and then Harry had come with the news about Ron. 

And once she had come through the grief at losing the person who was closest to her, Hermione realised that Ron, while close, had really only been a friend. They had never shared the same interests, nor had she been able to talk with him about his work (he claimed it was always a deadly secret), and he hadn't been that interested in the things she did to keep occupied at home.

And now she was free. 

And she didn't know how to feel about that.

And the box from the Ministry just felt like another reminder of her betrayal, if betrayal it was.

Hermione was just getting up the resolve to deal with the box, and had picked it up, when the doorbell rang. Hurriedly she gathered the box up with the folder of notes, and stuffed them in the front of the bookshelf before going to open the door. 

There stood Ginny, looking rather nervous and twisting her hands. 

"Oh! Hey, Ginny." Hermione hugged the other woman, and stepped back to let her in.

"Hermione. Yeah. Hi. Look, can we talk?"

"Of course! Just let me put the kettle on."

"No, I'd rather … could we go for a walk?"

Hermione gave her friend a close look, and noticed the strained look and rings around the eyes. "Of course we can. It's a beautiful day – I can post these letters on our way to the village." It took but a moment for Hermione to grab the pile of letters and her handbag, and to start out into the sunshine.

It was only a short walk to the post box in the middle of the village, then the two continued down the road to where an old bridge crossed the river. There, a stone seat looked over the water, and they sat down and watched as the ducks swam past. The sunshine made Hermione feel more alive than she had in a while, and she shut her eyes and tipped her head back, the better to catch the rays. Ginny sat quietly for a few minutes, then spoke.

"I'm leaving Harry."

Hermione snapped her head down and around to look at Ginny. "What? Why?"

"Oh, we've been planning it for a while now. It's … just not working between us. Hasn't been since before Albus was born, but we didn't want to make any major decisions while the children were still young."

"They're not exactly ancient now. Albus only started Hogwarts this year, and James won't be old enough to leave for a couple of years yet."

"I know," Ginny said. "But they're old enough to understand that Mum and Dad have separate lives. And it's Ron's death that showed us."

"What?"

Ginny shrugged. "Oh, I loved my brother, but seeing that he died so needlessly…"

"I thought he was doing important work."

"Was it? Harry told me … oh hell – he probably didn't want you to know."

"Know what?" Hermione's voice could go very cold when she wanted it to.

"Ron was being an idiot. He was trying to open a possibly cursed object, without putting in one of the protection rooms, or even casting a simple shielding spell over himself or anything. He died because he was careless, and I realised I couldn't cope if anything happened to Harry."

"Harry's careful."

"Yes, but I don't want him in that sort of life, and that _is_ his life. And I want to do other things, and be with someone who doesn't risk his life every time he opens a door, or cleans out a room, or rummages through a filthy rubbish tip. I've lost a brother, and close friends, and teachers and mentors I love, and I'm not prepared to lose any more." Ginny was crying now, and Hermione handed her a tissue from the huge supply she kept in her bag. 

"Thanks."

"But what will you do?" 

"That Amazon expedition? It's actually … I've been offered a secondment to train girls in the Carabayo School of Wizarding. They need a Quidditch coach, and my old Harpies captain recommended me." Ginny sniffed and blew her nose. "I'd been thinking of going for a while, but I know now that I need to make a break. A proper one."

"But Harry?" Hermione was surprised to feel quite a tweak in her heart as she asked. "How does he feel about this?"

"He's known for ages. Worked it out months ago, and didn't know how to bring it up. And then, when Ron died, he knew how I felt and he was able to talk about it with me." Wiping her eyes, Ginny smiled at Hermione. "He's still my best friend, and we still care for each other, but we've long since realised that we're going different ways, and we want to make the break while we're still able to."

The two sat silently for a bit, as a pair of hopeful ducks swam up then away again. Then Hermione sighed.

"You know the papers will be all over it."

"We've thought of that. The Quibbler has the true story, and will be releasing it next week after we've had a chance to tell the children. The Prophet can go jump. But I'm afraid they'll be after you, pushing for a story."

Hermione grinned, and it wasn't a nice grin."Did you know how I kept Rita Skeeter away all these years?"

"No?"

"Put a can of flyspray in the window. She doesn't dare come near me!"

"Oh nice!" Ginny stood up, and tucked in her shirt that had managed to come loose. "But we wanted you to know from us, so it wouldn't be a shock. And because I have a favour to ask."

"Oh?"

"Look after Harry for me."

Hermione snorted. "Again? Surely he's learned how to look after himself by now."

"You'd think." Ginny sniggered. "Just make sure he has enough to eat, and have him over to talk from time to time. He'll need it. I still care about him, even if I'm not mad about him like I was."

"Can do." Hermione stood too, and shook off an autumn leaf that had strayed onto her shoulder as they sat. There's a half-decent coffee shop up the road – fancy a cuppa?"

"Sorry, no. I have to go meet Harry, so we can sort out the paperwork. I don't understand why these Wizarding Divorces have to be so complicated! But thank you for listening – and understanding." Ginny hugged her friend, and then looked around to make sure there was no-one nearby before she spun twice and _Apparated_ away from the sheltered spot.


	4. Chapter 4

The sky was getting rather dark as Harry headed out from the Ministry to go and have dinner with Hermione. Which he'd been doing a lot of these days – in the week since Ginny's and his split, Grimmaud Place had become greyer and more empty. It was built for a large family – the Blacks had had to spread out greatly to fill it while they'd been around, and it was only when all the children were back for the holidays that Harry and Ginny had felt like the house had enough life in it to make it a home. When it was just the two of them, they tended to live in just the kitchen, which Kreacher grumbled about incessantly. It seems a busy House Elf is a happy House Elf, and Kreacher was not being kept busy.

But being there by himself, with only the mutterings of a dissatisfied domestic for company, was enough to send anyone insane. The first few times, Harry told himself he was going to Hermione's place for her sake. It had only been three weeks since Ron had died, and surely she was feeling pretty lonely too. But that was last Wednesday, and Harry had to admit that going nearly every day was more for his sake than for hers. 

And besides, it wasn't as if he could work back in the office in peace and quiet. This evening had been typical.

_"You sure things are over between you and Gin?"_

_"Ron? Do you mind? I've got to concentrate on the charms…"_

Two minutes later, Harry had felt the icy breath of Ron peering over his shoulder, and had finally thrown the folder into his bag and left, ignoring the _"and have you found the papers yet?"_ from behind him.

Now, he was really frustrated. The Ministry was having a floo problem, and was encouraging staff to _Apparate_ if they needed to go anywhere that was allowed, despite the possible dangers of splinching when you tried to concentrate on your destination while tired and frazzled from the day's work. Luckily Grimmaud Place was reasonably close to the Underground station, but on such a wet and miserable night, Harry needed company.

And he found Hermione's company preferrable above others. 

It took him just a few minutes to _Apparate_ to the village where her house was, and as always there was light and warmth and the smell of hot food. The last smelled more like local Balti than anything cooked up, but it suited Harry very well. His knock on the door would have been bright and cheery too, except that Hermione had the door open before he had a chance to connect.

"Hi. Come in. Dinner's about ten minutes away." Hermione hugged him hard, then headed back to the kitchen, trusting that Harry would make himself at home.

"That long?"

"I didn't want to put the rice on until you got here."

Harry shook off his damp coat and added it to the rack near the door, slipped off his muddy shoes and stretched his feet. Dumping his briefcase beside the couch, he walked through to the kitchen where Hermione was getting out a couple of wine glasses. She turned and grinned as she glanced at his feet, where the mismatched socks showed up all too well.

He caught her expression, and looked down himself. "Oh. Bother."

"Not a worry. Hang on. You look after these for a moment, and make sure that rice doesn't boil over?" She thrust the glasses into Harry's hands, indicating the wine bottle nearby with a tilt of her head before she disappeared upstairs. Two minutes later she was back down, a pair of tartan slippers in her hands.

"Pop these on." 

Harry slipped them on gratefully – the house was warm but the floor was cold, and his feet had been somewhat chilled. 

"I'm surprised they fit. I didn't think your feet were as big as mine," he commented, flexing his toes in the welcome softness.

"Oh, they're not. They're …" Hermione got that far, then choked a little. She rubbed her eyes surreptitiously, then continued. "They're Ron's. I bought them for him for his last birthday. And it's not like I'm going to use them." She looked up at Harry, her eyes unnaturally bright. "You may as well keep them. I remember what yours were like – at least these don't have holes in the fronts _and_ the bottoms."

They both laughed, a little nervously, then Harry stepped forward and hugged Hermione hard. "Thank you. I will think of him when I wear them."

The warmth was welcome to both of them, and they stood, holding each other, for a moment or two. Then Hermione relaxed further into Harry's arms, and looked up at him. 

Somehow, it seemed right to kiss her.

And he did.

The kiss deepened, going from a thank you to something more. Her lips parted and her arms slipped up around his neck to pull him closer … just as the rice started to boil over on the stove, hissing and bubbling angrily. They moved apart, not knowing where to look, then Hermione dashed over to the stove and pulled the saucepan from the heat. Unfortunately, the handles had heated up as well, and she cursed as the pot slipped and crashed down, rice and starchy water spilling over her right hand.

"FUCK!"

Harry sprang forward, grabbing a nearby potholder and moving the pot further back on the stove. He quickly turned the gas off, then turned to Hermione, who had dashed to put her hand under the cold water at the sink. She was crying, her shoulders shaking from the intensity of the pain going through her.

He walked up to her, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"Hermione?"

"It hurts." 

"Your hand?"

She held up her hand, which was reddened but not blistered. "This, not so much."

"Has it stopped stinging at least?"

"It has now." She turned off the tap, and shook off the last of the cold water. "But that's not what hurts."

Hermione's eyes were once more bright with tears, which started down her cheeks in a steady flow. Taking his hand in her uninjured one, she led him out to the lounge room and sat him down beside her on the couch. She held his hand, and gently ran her fingers over his, tracing around and up and down. 

"Are you sure? Should we take you to a doctor?" Harry asked, although he really didn't want to move. 

"It's not the hand. I hurt _inside_ , Harry."

"You miss him terribly, don't you?"

"It's not … " Hermione sighed, and laid Harry's hand down. "I do, but … it's more that I'm so used to him being a part of my life. I keep expecting to find his muddy boots on the carpet, or his uniform dumped outside the bathroom. The other day, I got to eat the last of the bread and butter pudding – that _never_ happened before. Every time I go to the refrigerator and there's still juice left, I miss him."

Then she looked up over at the bookcase, where the medal stood proudly. "But I'm free now."

"You're a House Elf?"

Hermione punched Harry on the arm, then winced. She'd used her right hand. 

"Ow!" This came from both of them, and they laughed. It took a minute, and the edge off things, then Harry took her left hand in both of his. 

"What do you mean, _'you're free'_?"

Hermione sighed a little, then took a deep breath to centre herself. "I didn't realise until he was gone how much I had changed myself to try and fit in with his life. And I wasn't _me_. I was Hermione Weasley, wife, mother, uniform washer and listener. I was there for him, but he wasn't there for me. And every time I tried to do things for me, something always got in the way." She brushed away another tear and continued. "Did you know I was asked to give the End of Year Assembly speech at Hogwarts two years ago?"

Harry frowned. "I thought Penelope Clearwater gave it?"

"She did." Hermione grimaced. "Minerva asked me to, and I let Ron know, but three days later he came bounding in to tell me that he had just bought tickets to the Quidditch World Cup festival in Delhi for both of us, and wouldn't it be a wonderful anniversary present, and hadn't I always wanted to go to India…" 

"I didn't know you had wanted to go to India so desperately."

"I didn't. I hated it. Heat and flies and then I got dysentery and spent the whole week groaning in the hotel room, while Ron went to every match."

"Oh." 

"And when I told him that I'd already said I would do the speech, he gave me that mournful look. He told me later he hadn't thought it was that important." She shook her head. "I would have loved to do it."

Hermione took another breath, and looked Harry right in the eyes. "I cared for Ron. I thought I loved him. He was my friend. I wish he wasn't dead. But now he is, and I am going to miss him and mourn him and get on with my life and be the person I have always wanted to be."

"Good on you!" Harry went to hug her again, then hesitated. "I'm sorry. Earlier. In the kitchen."

"Why?"

"Because … " Then he stopped. He could not think of a single good reason why he _was_ sorry. 

"Because?"

She was leaning forward a little now, and raised her hand to gently stroke his cheek. Harry tried hard to remember why he had been sorry, why he had stopped.

And then he knew.

"Because I _did_ stop. And because I didn't start again until now." 

And he leaned forward and kissed her again, gently at first until Hermione wrapped her hands around the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of her on the couch. His hands brushed her hair off her face, and her fingers ran around the outsides of his ears, then softly plucked his glasses off and put them on the small table beside them, as their lips went from the others lips to cheeks to neck to ears, then his ran down her cleavage to the space between her breasts, and kissed her gently there.

He looked up at her, flushed, her eyes open in wonder at the joy of it all. 

"Hermione? I think we should stop. Or go further. But I think we need to be sure we want to."

She shook herself, and pulled him up for a last, long kiss. "I want to, so very very much, but I don't think I'm quite ready to. But …"

"But?"

"But it's good to know that we both do. Terribly." She wiggled over on the couch, and he lay beside her, his head on her shoulder and her arm around him.

"We're going to get crucified by the Prophet."

"Yeah. I don't think all the flyspray in the world will keep Rita away from me now." Hermione glanced over to the windowsill where the spraycan sat, then kissed the top of Harry's head. "How will Ginny be, though."

"She'll be fine. I meant to tell you – I got a letter from her yesterday. I think she's seeing someone."

"She didn't tell you?"

"She didn't make it completely clear, no." Harry pulled himself up and reached into his back pocket for the letter. "But she talks about someone called Jubrill, and how well they've got on together. I think there might be more than just friends there."

"I hope he makes her really happy." Hermione rolled a little to make more room for Harry.

"She."

There was a moment's silence, then Hermione took the letter from Harry and read it through. "She. You're right. I had no idea…"

"Oh, I'd known for a long time, but this will be her first proper girlfriend."

Hermione started shaking, and for a moment Harry thought she might be crying again, until the laughter broke through. "I'm thrilled. Really I am. But I am so glad, and so envious. No-one is going to tell the Prophet about this! No-one!" They held each other and laughed until their shoulders and stomachs hurt, and all the darkness was gone.

Harry took the letter back, and returned it to his pocket, then jumped as his stomach rumbled. "Oh hell. Dinner."

"Oh bugger. The rice!" Hermione tried to clamber off Harry, but the pair ended up falling onto the floor and ended up giggling some more as they extricated themselves from each other. They stumbled into the kitchen, and Hermione peered into the saucepan and snorted. 

"Worm food."

"You've got a worm farm?"

"Oh yes – set up last year and doing wonderfully. Hang on…" Hermione rummaged on the kitchen bench for her wand, then waved it at the window, which opened just as the mass of gloop that used to be rice lifted itself and flew out into the gathering gloom. She rinsed the saucepan out, then filled it with hot water and set it back on the stove. "Five minutes to boil, then ten for the rice, and I'll reheat the curries. And I forgot to ask – how's work?"

"Oh. Yes." Harry rubbed the back of his neck, and at the odd tone of the response Hermione turned from getting more rice out.

"There's something I haven't told you."

"Oh?"

Harry looked at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but at Hermione. He swallowed. Twice. 

"Harry? If you're serious about things, we need to be honest with each other."

At that, Harry steeled himself. "I … er …"

"Well?"

"Ron's a ghost."

"A WHAT?"

"A ghost …"

"No, I heard you. I'm just … " Hermione almost dropped the rice. "And you didn't tell me before because?"

"He … he's not all there."

Hermione snorted, and Harry smiled as well. "No, I mean the ghost is only interested in one thing."

"Then it can't be Ron. He would have included food and Quidditch as well."

That got Harry laughing again, and Hermione's annoyance dissipated. 

"Not at all like that, Hermione. It's something he's left behind, that his ghost needs to get sorted before he goes."

"Then why haven't I seen him?"

"Because he's only at the office. It's papers – apparently he had something in his desk when he died that he needed to deal with, and he can't leave until I bring the papers back."

"Papers … ohhhhhhhh." Hermione put the rice tin down, and rushed past Harry into the lounge room and over to the bookcase. It took only a moment for her to pull out the Ministry box, still sealed and awaiting her attention. "Like this?"

" _YOU_ had it? All this time, and it was here?"

"You never asked!"

"Ron told me not to."

They looked at the box, then at each other. 

"If we open this…" Hermione started.

" _When_ we open this," Harry put his hand on top of hers. "he'll be at rest."

"I want to see him."

"Now?"

"Now. Take me there, Harry." She shook Harry's hand off, walked over to the coat rack and pulled off their two coats. "We can _Apparate_ in, I'll say goodbye to him, we open the box, then it's over." She handed Harry his coat, and shrugged into hers. 

"Ready?"

"I don't think this is a good idea…"

"Look, Harry. I know Ron. Or at least I did. I'm guessing that, with no work to do, he's bugging you all day and you can't get any work done."

Harry's look told her everything, and he took her arm and spun the pair of them off to the office.


	5. Chapter 5

With a _crack_ and a _bang_ , they appeared outside the Ministry's night entrance, and Harry led Hermione in and up to his office. The corridor was quite dark, but once they were in the room he had shared with Ron, it took only a moment to turn on the light. Hermione looked around, but there was no sign of her late husband.

Harry took Hermione's hand, and led her over to where Ron's desk had been. The scorch marks had finally been cleaned off, but there was a conspicuously new patch of carpet. 

"Ron?" Hermione sounded more nervous than Harry had heard her in a long time, but there was no response, so he tried.

"Ron? We think we've found those papers."

That did the trick. A shape unwound itself from the top of a nearby cupboard, and landed on the floor, once more sinking in ankle deep and needing to pull itself out. It coalesced quickly into the shape of Hermione's late husband, who rubbed his eyes and peered at the pair of them. 

"Hermione?"

"Hello, Ron." Hermione leaned towards him, her hand going through him from shoulder to waist. "I … I miss you."

"I miss you too." He turned to Harry, and scowled. "You got mud on my new slippers."

"Oops – sorry, mate."

"But seriously – Harry – have you got them?"

"Is this them?" Harry held up the box, and Ron dived for it. 

"YES! NO! DON'T OPEN IT!"

His incorporeal body went right through both the box and Harry's arm, but in the shock, Harry dropped the box on the floor. The box broke, an envelope fell to the ground with its flap open, and a pile of papers fell out. Hermione crouched down to pick them up, but the whole side of the envelope had split, and they slipped out all over the floor.

"NOOOO!!!!"

Hermione's eyes widened severely, and even Harry boggled at the contents. There on the floor was a collection of old-fashioned Muggle magazines, of the sort read by discerning gentleman after buying from discreet stockists. The softness of the focus and the roundness of the figures dated them to the 1970s, as did the rather orange hue on a lot of the décor behind the models. One picture was torn, and Harry recognised that this was the rest of the scrap he had found by the dump.

And Hermione was outraged. 

"Your _porn stash_? You put Harry through all this time and trouble for your _**pornography collection**_?"

"Oh god, 'Mione, I'm sorry, I never meant to let you know…"

She held up the papers. "Well, now I do. And what did you expect Harry to do with them?"

"Yeah. All that secrecy and 'no I can't tell you' and after all that it was your bloody Boy's magazines you wanted me to find?" Harry was livid, but after a moment Hermione was laughing. 

"I can't believe poor Kingsley had to pack all this up to bring it to me!"

"He didn't know. It was all in the envelope, addressed to me." Ron's spirit fidgeted, and a strange breeze started moving the papers around. "And I think that's my signal."

"Signal? You're leaving?" Hermione put down the papers and stood up, brushing her hands on her thighs. "Ron, I have to tell you something." She looked over at Harry, and he came over and took her hand, facing Ron's fading image.

Ron looked at them both, and smiled. "Oh good. I was going to ask you to look after her, but it looks like you already are."

Harry started. "You don't mind?"

"Nah – best thing that could happen. It's not like I can stay around now, is it?"

Hermione was smiling, although her tears had started up again. "You mean it? I'll miss you terribly."

"Bloody make sure you do a good job of things, mind." Ron's feet and legs were starting to dissolve into nothingness, and a look of panic flashed across his face. "And tell Mum I miss her and the rest of the family too."

"We will!" Hermione blew him a kiss, and he blew one back as his ghost's body dissipated below the waist. 

"Wait!" Harry leapt forwards as if to stop him, although he knew nothing could at this stage. "What do you want us to do with the porn?"

"Burn it! That's what mates are for…" and the last vestiges of Ron melted and disappeared in the draught. 

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, then wordlessly picked up the magazine pages and put them in the fireplace. A fast _Incendio_ , and a moment later, the pictures were burning merrily in an empty office, as Harry and Hermione headed back to her place.  
.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a serious work, but once my beloved Beta and Idea-bouncer and I had worked out what Ron would have left behind, it sort of morphed into ... well, you just read it. But then life's like that.


End file.
